


The One in Which Aziraphale Discovers Fan Fiction

by BookClubBuddies



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens (TV) RPF, Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Comedy, Comfort, Comfort/More Comfort, Crowley's Plants (Good Omens), Domestic Bliss, Funny, Humor, M/M, Meta, Metafiction, Our boys react to fanfics, References to other Fanfics, Roleplay, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Soft Crowley (Good Omens), Sweet, Their Sexy Times scare the plants, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, love letter to the fandom, no warnings on this fic but please read those on fics referenced
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-10-04 05:20:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20465678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BookClubBuddies/pseuds/BookClubBuddies
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale read and react to YOUR fan fics!What will they think of fanfics written by real authors in the fandom?Can Crowley's heart take it when he finds Aziraphale reading about him?Let's find out!Note: Still awaiting staff approval but all authors and people mentioned have given permission to reference their work.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dreamsofspike](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamsofspike/gifts), [for_autumn_i_am](https://archiveofourown.org/users/for_autumn_i_am/gifts).

> Tagged Mature but should really be tagged Immature

Aziraphale's reading habits had become a problem.

For the third time that week, Aziraphale had cancelled dinner plans with Crowley. Ever since the couple had begun living together in the apartment over the bookshop, they went out less and less. 

Afterall, Aziraphale rationalized, they were with each other every night. They didn't really NEED to go on dates as an excuse to spend time together. 

Crowley was free to go about his whims and wiles during the day, enjoying the freedom of a windswept drive in his Bentley down to the farmer's market or gardening supply store, or most often to his volunteer position at the community garden. 

There, he would enjoy working in the dirt the human way: weeding, digging, planting, watering... it was hard work and he would have worked up a good sweat if he was mortal. 

Of course the most rewarding part of the job was whispering secrets to his favourite plants. 

Contrary to popular belief, stemming from rumours that he himself may or may not have been responsible for... (*** he was definitely responsible ***) he actually never yelled at nor threatened his plants; he always told them that they were beautiful and precious. They were his very close friends and confidantes, afterall... they were awfully dear to him. 

Rather, he whispered softly, telling them stories from his adventures during his long lifespan, including a few delicious choice details about his love life with Aziraphale. 

Those particular details, recounting the couple's unbearably gentle embraces and loving liasons, frightened the poor plants beyond imagination, so much so that they grew to be the loveliest plants in all the community gardens. 

Crowley was exceedingly proud of them, though he was a good plant parent and would have loved them with or without their achievements. 

They produced the most delectable and tempting manner of fruits and vegetables that were donated to charitable meal services and the most achingly beautiful lavendar flowers that he gathered into a bouquet for Aziraphale at the end of each week. And if the fruits and veggies happen to be laden with some forbidden knowledge, well, at least they were nutritious and locally grown. Certainly the patrons of the food banks and soup kitchens that received the produce were most grateful that it all somehow stayed so fresh. 

After work, Crowley would peruse thrifts stores, the only places he could still find cassettes to play in his car and rare books for Aziraphale's collection that the angel didn't already have. 

Meanwhile the angel stayed indoors all day. He manned his bookshop during its confusing hours of operation for the patrons who could in fact decipher the hieroglyphics of his infamous Hours of Operation Sign. The purpose of the confusing sign was to limit the number of customers in the shop at any one time so that Aziraphale could give each one his full attention. Those who had true need were never barred from entry. 

Contrary to popular belief (raised by rumours stemming from more than one rather hurtful Yelp review) Aziraphale actually worked quite hard indeed for his customers. 

When one tentatively entered the store, the angel would greet them with a depth of warmth in his smile and ask genuinely, "how can I help you, dear?" 

And the customer would, for some reason unbeknownst to themselves, feel so understood and so safe that they would open their heart to him and tell him what truly pained them in life or what they yearned for, revealing truths that they had never told another living soul or even admitted fully to themself. 

Aziraphale would listen whole-heartedly for as many hours as they needed until the customer came to some eureka moment of self-realization. Sometimes if their pain was especially deep, a minor miracle or two was needed to help them... a sick loved one to heal, a dark trauma to recover from. 

Once in a while he even sent them home with a book... one from the self-help section mind you, not from his treasured personal collection, which was admittedly quite extensive, spanning well... just about every other shelf that was not the self-help section.

So perhaps the cruel Yelp reviewers who said that he ran the shop like his personal library were a just a little bit on the money with that observation. He helped his customers immensely, just not to find rare books. 

Aziraphale found the work very rewarding but draining. 

By the time evening came, he was so looking forward to hearing the little bell above the door jingle for the final time in the day as it swung open and his beautiful demon stepped inside, greeting him with a kiss, a dusty secondhand book and a bouquet of his favourite lavendar flowers. 

All he wanted to do was sink into a chair with with his love resting quietly at his side and his new secondhand book, inhaling lavendar and the sweet earthly herb fragrances like sage and mint and basil that clung to Crowley from his day's work in the community gardens. 

Cabin fever was never really a problem for Aziraphale who didn't have the same wanderlust as Crowley and preferred to wander in his imagination than in the real world.

Or so he told himself. He was past the days of gallivanting around the world as heaven's errand boy. 

These were his golden years where he and Crowley could devote their time to each other and to the work that they each personally considered meaningful. He poured himself into his day job and didn't mind if it made him so tired that he opted to skip a few nights out. 

He had been there and done that. Seen the sights. Bought the t-shirt. (Or rather, the waistcoat). He didn't very well need to keep revisiting places he'd been, recreating the same experiences over again. He already had the memories. 

And wasn't it just more cozy to sit at home in the evenings with his two favourite things, one in each hand.... his right arm propping up a dog-eared paperback and his left holding his greatest treasure....his dearest Crowley, comfortably hugging an arm around him or caressing his soft hair? 

What more could he possibly ask for? Even a full belly didn't afford the same pleasure as full hands. 

And Crowley would humm and purr ever so softly. 

"Angel," he would murmur through half-closed eyes, looking quite knackered and about ready to doze off. "'Bout time to go, then?" 

Crowley would remind the angel of their dining reservations that the demon had booked at some ridiculously romantic Soho restaurant like Bleeding Heart or Blanchette. 

And Aziraphale would respond, "Oh, just one more page, darling! Oh just one more. You can have a little nap, I'll wake you when it's time to go." 

And he would stroke Crowley's hair and caress his cheek some more. 

"Mmm, 's nice. Feels nice, angel. Mmm," Crowley would murmur and moan softly until he fell asleep.

Hours later, Crowley would wake up. 

"Got the time, love?" he asked sleepily. 

"Terribly sorry, my dear boy," Aziraphale would respond with a smile, sounding not very sorry at all, "but it's simply far too late to go out now. Why don't we have a night in? I'll make it up to you?" Aziraphale said with a wink. 

"You really are a bit of a bastard, y' know," Crowley would say. 

He really was. 

And Crowley loved him for it. 

And then Aziraphale would lean down to kiss Crowley and lead him to the bedroom and there was no more discussion until the next time they had dinner reservations, when the whole scene would repeat. 

Eventually Aziraphale put less and less effort into his dramatic posturing. 

When a dinner plan was missed, he would simply sigh unconvincingly and say "oh well, perhaps next time, darling," and he would pull Crowley a little closer, but instead of retiring to the bedroom, he would simply turn a page in his book. 

After a few months of this, Crowley decided to remedy the situation. 

He was becoming quite worried about his angel, his precious and perfect little hedonist, who now barely indulged in much of anything. He never practiced his magic act anymore. Never wanted to go feed ducks in the park. Rarely initiated sex. And most concerning of all, he only ever ate when Crowley cooked. 

Crowley didn't mind so much if they made love less frequently. The bedroom plants had already witnessed their fair share of tender love scenes between the couple and would probably remain beautiful forever thanks to those emotionally scarring memories. 

But didn't Aziraphale miss dining out? He had loved restaurants so passionately before he and Crowley had started living together. 

Crowley worried that he was responsible for Aziraphale giving up something he had once loved so much and settling into this domestic routine. 

Miraculously, Aziraphale had not lost any weight whatsoever despite the drop in restaurant-food intake, still looking as cherub-round as ever. Mind you, they still drank sweet tea and lavender wine in the shop, and Crowley did busy himself in the kitchen with commendable effort. 

However, he wasn't the best at cooking. He was, in fact, rather rubbish at it, but Aziraphale would eat all of his mistakes without complaint, whether burnt or under-cooked (or somehow both at the same time) while praising him highly for his efforts, so.... perhaps that might have attributed to Aziraphale's unchanging waist size. 

Not that Crowley minded one way or the other if they ate out or not, but he did so miss the sight of his angel's exquisitely blissful expression when indulging in more decadent fare and was so terribly eager to devour that sorely missed vision of beauty once again. 

Aziraphale enjoyed eating restaurant foods not out of gluttony, but out of gratitude for the world and love for humanity. With every bite, he expressed his appreciation for the effort and creativity that the humans poured into growing and preparing the food. And well, maybe he enjoyed the taste as well. Maybe just a little a bit. It was very good. 

Though Crowley never ate much himself on their dates, he very much missed watching his angel indulge. The soft moans he would make while savouring a bite of crepe were sweeter to Crowley's ears than any beloved Queen song on his Bentley's speakers. He looked so delicious to Crowley's serpentine eyes and the sight of him enjoying himself so much was all the sustenance Crowley really needed. 

He missed watching Aziraphale's eyelids flutter and his satisfied smile of contentment. 

Mostly, he wanted reassurance that Aziraphale was still happy, that Crowley hadn't taken away something important from his angel by becoming closer to him. 

But alas these days, Aziraphale's nose was always buried in a book. Books seemed to be all that he really wanted and he communicated very little about his other desires.

It simply would not do. Crowley devised a clever plan to allow his angel to have his cake and eat it too, so to speak. 

And so he decided that the best way to get the angel out of the bookshop was to bring the entire bookshop with them. 

Aziraphale was sitting on the sofa when Crowley came in. 

The demon came up behind the armchair and dangled over it, wrapping his long arms around Aziraphale's front and placing a kiss on his cheek. 

Then Crowley dropped something into Aziraphale's lap. 

It was some sort of black rectanglular device made of hard plastic and metal alloys, with a black screen like the television set Crowley used to have in his old flat, only much smaller. 

"Time to enter the modern era, angel. I've gotten you a reading tablet."

Aziraphale looked at the device questioningly. 

"Ohhh.... thank you." He said looking up into Crowley's eyes with a quick warm smile and then back at the strange black rectangle in confusion. "Whatever is it for?" 

"'s FOR using the internet. The whole world at your fingertips, or whatever sodding thing they say. Most importantly though, that thin little computer can store all of the books in this shop and more." He gestured to the walls upon walls of tomes around them.

"I don't quite understand, my dear." 

Crowley sunk down on the sofa, nestling in close to the angel, stretching his legs over Aziraphale's lap. "The books are digital. You can read on that. All the books you could imagine can fit into your pocket. " 

Aziraphale still looked confused. Crowley made an exasperated expression, mostly in jest and tried again. 

"I'm saying, you can carry all your books with you all the time now."

Aziraphale looked around the bookshop and then back at the tablet, taking a moment to process. 

"Well, that's simply marvelous!" Aziraphale beamed at the idea. "Although something can be said for the earthly pleasure of touching real books... their textures and smells... I'm not sure anything could replace that, but this is very lovely indeed."

"Now, let me show you how this works." Crowley tapped the screen and loaded "The Complete Works of Oscar Wilde" on the reading app. 

Aziraphale was surprised to see the words he treasured so much appear on the screen at a simple touch. 

"Oh, my darling, thank you! What a beautiful gesture." 

"S'not just a gesture, it's a useful thing, so bloody well use it. Don't just let it gather dust because you love the feel of real books. No one's taking them away. You can have both."

"Alright Crowley, I promise to give it a try." 

Crowley nodded, satisfied. "Now let's actually go out tonight. There's no more need to stay cooped up in here. You can even read and dine at the same time if you must."

They went out that night and it was lovely. Aziraphale dined and Crowley watched happily. It felt wonderfully nostalgic to Crowley. 

Though he noticed that Aziraphale's appetite was decidedly smaller than usual. 

The angel was far too delighted with the tablet and took great joy in searching for obscure authors, either on the reading app or on the internet browser app. He practically made a game of it, trying to outsmart the device and come up with a book that was more obscure than the internet knew of. 

Crowley looked on with amusement, a devilish grin on his face as he watched his angel's delight. 

"They couldn't possibly have this one.... Oh look, Crowley, they do! There it is!"

He typed in the title of another. And lo and behold, there it was on the screen. He was having such fun!

"Oh, I thought I'd never see this one again. Oh, my dear Crowley, thank you, thank you! What a wonderful gift you've given me." His eyes brimmed with tears of happiness at discovering his long-lost favourite book that still existed in the ether of the interwebs.

Crowley was pleased to see his angel so happy. Maybe it was alright that he was less interested in food and outings these days, if reading brought him more joy. 

It was such a beautiful night that Crowley and Aziraphale took a long walk home that evening, opting to take a detour through a heavily forested park and pick up the Bentley the next day. 

They wanted to spend the evening gazing at the moon and walking close together in the dark, occasionally stopping to share soft kisses. 

And because it was so dark and no one else was around at this late hour, they let out their wings and wrapped them around each other, black around white, white around black.

Aziraphale pushed Crowley gently against a tree and placed kisses on his neck. 

Crowley took off his sunglasses and Aziraphale kissed his temple and then his cheekbone just under his beautiful golden eyes. 

"I love you, Crowley, my dearest," Aziraphale cooed sweetly. 

"Mmm. Love you, Aziraphale, m' angel, "Crowley whispered huskily. 

They made love tenderly under the moonlight, much to the horror of the onlooking trees. 

The foliage was still trembling with fear the next morning when a certain angel and a certain demon woke up in each other's arms, surrounded by greens so impossibly lush and flowers blooming so vividly that they were momentarily disoriented, thinking they had woken up in a different Garden altogether. 

A few weeks later, Aziraphale's reading habits had again become a problem. 

Although Aziraphale would occasionally agree to a night out if he could read at the table, he now no longer stroked Crowley's hair while reading at home. 

And this was all thanks to the blasted device. 

The tablet required two hands to read. One to hold the base and one to scroll to the next page. And with both hands in use, that left Aziraphale with no hands free at all to touch Crowley with. 

Crowley cursed the thing and wished he had left well enough alone in the days when Aziraphale read hard copy books.

Crowley grumbled his frustrations to his plants. He had moved them all from his old flat into the upstairs bedroom of the bookshop, which had a lovely skylight window in the low ceiling that opened up to the roof. 

Though Crowley's plants appreciated the skylight, truly prime real estate location-wise, it came with the unfortunate caveat that they were witness to all activities of a romantic nature that transpired in the bedroom. 

And after being subject to such amorous displays of soft love and aching tenderness, the hapless flora probably could have benefited from Aziraphale's counselling services to cope with their resulting post-traumatic stress. 

Alas, he was complicit in the love-making, and if they couldn't stop picturing him and Crowley naked, then there wasn't much he could do for them. 

Crowley trusted the plants unconditionally and was known to turn to his dear vegetative friends for advice now and then, even though said dear friends were known to be not all that helpful, being most often at a loss for words. But that didn't stop Crowley from trying. 

"He's completed glued to that sodding screen. I'm glad that he's happy and he gets out now and then, but I didn't expect he'd stop holding me while he reads. What do you lot think? Could I just tell him I miss that?" 

The plants said nothing. 

"Nah, not my style. How can I get his attention? Maybe just jump into his lap in m'birthday suit, then? Not that I ever had a birthday. But then again with that blasted screen in front of him, he probably wouldn't even notice. What do you suggest?"

The plants still said nothing, though they were visibly shaking at the terrifying prospect of seeing the couple in their birthday suits once again. 

"Oh, you lot are no help at all." 

Crowley sprayed them down with the plant mister and sighed. 

He hung his head, about ready to give up, just as his angel called out to him from the living room. 

"Darling, did you know that there are stories about us on here?" 

Crowley did in fact know this. In fact it was largely his fault. 

Nearly three decades ago, a certain someone decided that it would be truly deliciously wicked to commit the ultimate faux-pas and make public the very secret world of angels and demons and then release said knowledge into the human populace. 

Of course all the humans just accepted that it was fiction. The humans loved it. But as far as heaven and hell were concerned, the book didn't cause so much as a ripple in the cosmos. 

With the exception of his own darling bookworm angel, neither occult beings nor ethereal concerned themselves much with books in general, nevermind human fiction. 

Somehow Crowley had pulled off the crime of the century, the crime of the epoch and just gotten off scot free with sharing his memoirs so openly. 

And thus the not-so fictional account of their adventures, entitled Good Omens was ghost-written by Crowley and then handed off to some mortals who would know what to do with it. 

What did come as a surprise to Crowley was that Aziraphale had never read it. He had quite a collection of Pratchett and Gaiman, and yet hadn't stumbled on that one until just now, though Crowley supposed the televised adaptation might account for the memoir's resurgence in popularity. 

What also came as a surprise to him was that another author was quite popular on Aziraphale's beloved tablet, and on everyone else's computers too. A certain prophecy book had quickly become a bestseller. 

That book was none other than Agnes Nutter's Nice and Accurate Prophecies for the 21st century Unabridged Kindle Edition, now with 'Olde Englishe' to 'How normal people speak' translations for the Patience Impaired and Grammatically Anal, which had received 5 stars by all readers except for one annoying dolt who ruined it for everyone by giving it one star. 

(He reasoned that because he tried to read the book on his fancy dancy smart-watch and then promptly discovered that the text was far too small to read on the 2 inch by 2 inch screen, the one star rating was actually far too generous, being one star more than deserved). 

So in summary, yes, Crowley did in fact know that there were stories about himself and Aziraphale circulating in human literature. 

And he also knew that the humans loved the characters so much that they enjoyed making up rather saucy, rather steamy little tales about their continued adventures, most often set in the bedroom. 

Crowley had left those particular details out of his own memoirs out of respect for Aziraphale's privacy.

Crowley's own exhibitionism when it came to their love making really only extended to its practical application as a technique in horticultural care. How very healthy it made the plants to watch the couple's amours with fascinated terror! 

They grew quite beautifully, and certainly quite educated as a result. 

On the matter of education, Crowley opted for home schooling. He loved the plants far too much to subject them to the public school system. Like all good plant parents, Crowley placed a high value on education. He wanted his plants to become productive members of society afterall. 

Actually now that he thought about it, it would do them good if he read them a few more educational stories. 

Crowley certainly didn't mind reading the occasional fan-written fictional account of how the humans imagined that his love life with Aziraphale had unfolded.

Or re-reading. 

Or committing a few choice ones to memory. 

They were quite good. But still he would smile to himself with the secret knowledge of how they actually came to be lovers... beautiful moments that only he and Aziraphale would ever share or know of. 

"Yes, angel, I know there are stories about us. Now come to bed please," he called nonchalantly into the living room. 

Aziraphale's head appeared in the doorway, wearing a shocked expression on his face. 

"You what? You know about these? How? What? " 

Crowley whistled innocently and looked like a snake that had eaten a canary. 

"How indeed? Damned if I know."

Aziraphale eyed him suspiciously. Then he brightened again.

"Well, whoever is responsible for planting the initial seeds of truth..." Aziraphale gave Crowley a knowingly look that suggested that he might not be so blissfully unaware afterall of Crowley's little foray into the literature world.

He continued, "whoever's responsible, humans have certainly made something quite remarkable here. They are such clever and creative creatures," he said with unmasked praise. 

He showed the tablet screen to Crowley. 

"My dear, this one is wonderful! Oh! And this one too! These stories are absolutely riveting! And they're calling us the Ineffable Husbands. I do so love that." 

"Shows what they know", said Crowley, snaking an arm around Aziraphale's waist, and looking him up and down suggestively. "You're effing eff-able. Downright bloody most desirable creature I've ever seen! Loves to torment me too with his reading binges. If that's not eff-able, well... I don't know what is."

"Really, my dear, it seems you might not. Ineffable means, " Aziraphale reminded Crowley, "something that cannot be put into words." 

"Thanks for the vocabulary lesson, angel." Crowley said with a sarcastic grin, then continued. "Terribly ironic description for you, seeing as how you're in love with words. Fancy a wedding?" 

Crowley picked up a hefty book that Aziraphale had left on the nightstand and miracled a pair of googly eyes and a miniature top hat onto the book, turning it into a rather shoddy sort of puppet. 

Then he addressed the book puppet, "Webster's Dictionary, do you take this gorgeous bastard as your lawfully wedded husband?" 

The book was not a dictionary (**** we'll talk more about the book's true identity later.... foreshadowing ensues ****). It was not a dictionary but it was a thoroughly effective prop for Crowley's teasing. 

He puppeteered the book, flapping its covers open and closed to make it look as if it were speaking, "Yeah, why not? I do and all 'at. Let's have a kiss, then?" 

Crowley brought the book puppet's pages close to Aziraphale's cheek and the googly eyes jiggled up at him hopefully. 

Aziraphale scoffed and rolled his eyes, suppressing a chuckle. 

"Sorry, not really my type." But he patted the book puppet on the head anyway before Crowley gave up on trying to be silly and put the book down. 

"Now THIS fellow is more my speed," the angel retorted, turning his attention back to the tablet and patting it lovingly, much to Crowley's utter jealous horror. 

"That's it, you're cut off." Crowley snapped his fingers and the tablet appeared in his other hand. 

"My dear, I was reading that!" Aziraphale protested. "Crowley, please, I've just got to know what happens next! I'm invested!!!" 

Crowley peered down at the webpage that Aziraphale had been on and grinned mischievously. 

He started to read out loud. 

"Then Aziraphale moaned and deepened the kiss, lifting Crowley's shirt...." 

He raised an eyebrow at Aziraphale. 

"Hmm," he mused, "invested, indeed. I wonder where this is going?" Crowley teased.

Aziraphale didn't even register the teasing tone, he was so enraptured with the story and began rambling at length about his predicted plot theories. 

"At a guess... I think they're going to run away together but Gabriel is still looking for the amulet that Anathema used to lull the Kracken to sleep and Adam's memory loss means that he's still not aware of his powers, and the Atlantians are uprising, meanwhile the aliens have come back and they're not quite so friendly this time around... " 

Aziraphale stopped himself suddenly, upon seeing the bemused grin and raised eyebrow that Crowley was regarding him with. 

"Yes, yes, go ahead, poke a bit of fun then if you must, but do be speedy about it, dear boy. I MUST keep reading! I will simply discorporate if I don't!" 

Crowley took a step towards his angel. He stroked his cheek . And said softly, "And I'll discorporate without you in my arms."

Aziraphale looked into his eyes softly. 

Crowley continued, "I love your passion, angel. I understand now; 'm sorry that I didn't before. These stories mean a lot to you. "

"Well, yes! I love these characters! Working together in secret to avert Armageddon...it's so dangerous. But also romantic! They're us, but also not. How we used to be..."

"Things are different now that we've settled into this peaceful routine," Crowley offered gently. 

"Yes, and it's perfect and I wouldn't trade it for all the world, but...."

"But..." Crowley gazed at his angel knowingly. "You miss the thrill we shared in our old lives?" he offered. 

"Maybe a little." the angel admitted guiltily. 

"'s alright, love. 's okay to crave adventure and to find it in stories. But please slow down a little, angel. You spend so much time in the book world that I miss you in the real world. Miss sharing things with you. Would you let me share this, angel? Let me spend some time with you in this fantasy world. And then we'll put that world aside for a little bit and live our lives, go explore and do something new, something together... in the real world?"

Crowley's eyes pleaded, betraying his worries more than he wanted to. He was more than a little concerned about his angel's escapist tenancies growing into an addiction. He wanted to help him have a bit more life balance. 

"Yes, my love. Of course. I'm sorry too, I should have included you. Let's read together!" Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley and they hugged for a long while. 

Crowley breathed deeply and purred contentedly. 

Then he broke the hug and smiled at his angel, as eager as Aziraphale to sit down together to read. 

*******

Up next: READING TIME! Which fanfic will Crowley choose? Will Aziraphale and the book puppet get married? And FOR THE LOVE OF SOMEBODY, what kind of book is it???????? 

Answers to these questions and more, coming soon!!!!!


	2. 1001 In-Eff-able Nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley likes the funny ones

Crowley smiled and snapped his fingers again.

Suddenly he was dressed in a very beautiful outfit which Aziraphale hadn't seen him wear in quite a few centuries.

Aziraphale eyed him up and down in surprise, and not without at least a little bit of lascivious desire.  
Crowley's outfit left very little to the imagination. He was shirtless, his skin pale despite his day work in the community garden.

He wore flowing harem pants, and a gauzy veil over the lower half of his face, though the veil concealed nothing.  
His fiery hair was long and flowing down his shoulders, bejewelled with a metal snake shaped headband and several chains. Massive heavy jewellery weighed down the rest of his body, all of it snake-themed... necklaces, belts, bangles, earrings, and various piercings.

He was still holding the digital tablet, only now it was disguised as a stone tablet and the words of the rather salacious story he had been reading, now appeared in Enochian, as if chiseled by an invisible hand.

  
He put it down on the nightstand for the moment and stepped close to Aziraphale.

“Evenin' m'love. We've been apart far too long, I'd say.”

  
Crowley reached out and took Aziraphale's hand in his and pressed it to his lips, kissing the angel's knuckles gently. Aziraphale was speechless as Crowley went on.  
“M' here now. 've come to you at long last.”

Aziraphale continued to stare breathlessly, clutching his other hand against his rapidly beating heart.

“'s it been so long you forgot me?” The demon pulled back the sheer veil from his own lips and dropped it to the floor sensuously. “'s me, love. You know me. The great storyteller.... Scheherazowley!”

That broke the spell, and Aziraphale burst out laughing.

"Oh excellent! Oh I do so love theatre." He collected himself and then urged Crowley to continue his performance, "Go on, please, dear. Terribly sorry for interrupting."

Crowley smiled and stroked Aziraphale's cheek.

“M' yours for t'night. Your storyteller. T'night and every night... if you'll have me.”

Aziraphale swallowed. He tried to play along.  
Aziraphale's voice trembled a little, betraying his desire. “I imagine you're ...well versed in the ways of pleasure?”

Crowley grinned, “and also in the pleasures of verses, love."

Aziraphale gazed up into Crowley's golden eyes, falling under his spell again.  
He was captivated. He swallowed again. Crowley continued stroking his cheek.

“You know you're m' everything, y'know that, don't you, angel?” said Crowley accidentally breaking character as he gazed into Aziraphale's eyes and fell under a spell of his own.

His acting skills had grown a little rusty since his nanny days. He tried to recover the scene.  
“You're m' audience. M' everything. For what're stories without ears to hear them or beating hearts to be moved by them? Only words."  
His fingers moved down to Aziraphale's neck and continued their soft caresses there.

“You're the one who gives them meaning."

Aziraphale was positively smitten at this point. He pulled Crowley close and kissed him passionately.

They broke the kiss. Crowley was still holding his hand. He found himself being tugged gently downwards and led to sink into the bed.

"Come on then, love. Come and sit by m'side." Crowley let go of his angel's hand. He snapped his fingers, miracling some cushions and throw pillows from the other room to appear on the bed, creating a cozy storytelling nook for the reading.

"Shall I tell you a tale? "  
"Oh, yes please", exclaimed Aziraphale excitedly as he sat down cross-legged on the bed and folded his hands into his lap politely. " You're ever so right, my dear Crowley, er, I mean Scheherazowley, it's so much more fun to share this experience than to simply stare at a screen on my own."

Crowley grinned. He sprawled out on the cushions and reached towards the nightstand, picking up the tablet disguised as stone.

"Let's have a go at some High Art then, love?" Crowley winked, his tone rather suggestive, "for the most discerning and refined palette.”

Aziraphale looked on gleefully.  
He seemed to like where this was going.

“I present to you, a delicious little gem, penned by the incomparably wicked mind of for_autumn_i_am"

Crowley grinned impishly, his smile impossibly wide, very much savouring the moment of announcing the title of his chosen story.

He enunciated every word, thrilled for the big reveal. He was practically beaming with pride.

"_The One in which Crowley discovers Wanking_"

Aziraphale let out a lovely little laugh. "Oh good, I was hoping you would choose some classic literature."

He shifted positions, lay down on his belly over the cushions and propped his head up on his elbows, giving Crowley his undivided attention, which Crowley relished.

"Wisdom for the ages," he retorted.

Then he looked down at the Enochian-chiselled stone tablet and began to read, though really he had long since memorized this one. It was one of his very favourites.

"_It began, like most memorable events in Crowley’s life did, with a bad decision; like most bad decisions, it involved poor impulse control and copious amounts of alcohol._ "

\------  
<https://archiveofourown.org/works/19237858>  
\------

(MINOR SPOILERS AHEAD)

Crowley finished reading and Aziraphale sighed softly.

"That was beautiful, my dear. I loved how Crowley allows himself to be so vulnerable in the arms of his angel."

"I liked that too, angel. And Aziraphale accepts him fully, holds him tenderly. He's not judgey like others are," Crowley intoned, casting an accusatory glance over to the larger bedroom plants that had resumed their trembling. “Don't think they cared for it much."

He was a little bit hurt.

“Don't mind them, darling, you know how they are.”

Aziraphale always knew just what to say.

"It's a far softer tale than the title suggests," the angel noted. "OH, I liked the part where Crowley fantasizes about Aziraphale's true presence towering over him while he's '_tormented by pleasure_.' What a vision!"

Crowley laughed heartily.

"Bigger than London', was it? Yeah, you would like that bit, wouldn't you, angel?"

"Well I like all your bits, my dear," Aziraphale replied with a bit of cheek.

Crowley raised his eyebrows and grinned approvingly.

"Good thing I apparently discovered what they're for then, isn't it?"

Aziraphale laughed.

Crowley reread the story title wistfully, not quite wanting their jovial banter to end.

" '_Crowley discovers wanking'_... well, that's a bit like saying Columbus discovered the Americas, isn't it? Do I really deserve credit for that?"

"Of course you do, darling! And anyway, it's not a story about the Americas, it's about self-discovery! Physically and emotionally. And the discovery that Crowley is loved more deeply than knows."

"Maybe too much. Maybe more than he deserves." Crowley looked away. "His angel is so perfect it hurts."

"I think his angel feels the same way about Crowley. And he wants Crowley to know how much he is loved. How much he does deserve love.”

“Y'might be inferring a bit much there, angel. M'not sure that's in the story.”

Aziraphale leaned closer to him to read a passage from the stone tablet.

“Nonsense, darling, it's all in here. Crowley wants to be seen with _'all the ugly things bared. But he had never hid them, had he? Aziraphale, that right bastard, knew everything he could possibly confess, and recognized the revelations readily, even if he couldn’t endorse them: he knew Crowley like Crowley hardly knew himself._' 

  
The angel continued, “but you see, darling, to Aziraphale... there are no ugly things about him. Crowley is beautiful. Perfect because of his flaws, not in spite of them. And it hurts his angel when he doesn't see his own beauty.”

“Not everyone feels that way, angel. He was stepped on by the lass at the Western gate. Damn near sliced in half. He'll always be unforgiveable. Part of the job description.”

“Not anymore,” Aziraphale said. “They're both free now. As it says, dear.... '_They’ve tricked destiny. They chose this._' And because of it, they got to share such a beautiful experience, wouldn't you say?"

Aziraphale wrapped his arms around his demon, "Read me another, my love."

"Uh uh, not until tomorrow night." He handed Aziraphale back his tablet, transforming it back from stone to electronics with a snap, and the angel placed it on the nightstand.

"Oh alright. The '_rumpty-tumpty_' then?" Aziraphale wiggled like a bobble-head doll as he said it, clearly delighted by the story's clever euphemism. The cheeky bastard would probably never stop saying it now.

"Nah, we're going out on the town... but you can still saw me in half tonight at the place 'm taking you," said Crowley salaciously.

"Oh? Sounds like your kind of place," Aziraphale remarked.

Crowled snorted with laughter.

"Nah, angel. Definitely more your speed,” he said. “Come on then, let's get changed. Best not keep our audience waiting."

Crowley snapped his fingers and he was dressed in his fanciest dinner jacket and tightest jeans. Aziraphale on the other hand was dressed suspiciously in what looked to be the same tuxedo jacket and fake mustache he had worn to perform his magic act at a birthday party some years ago. But it had gone so poorly that he had never tried to perform again in public.

He eyed Crowley suspiciously and then without another word followed him out to the Bentley.

The drive was lovely, the fresh air from the rolled down windows did Aziraphale good.

Crowley pulled up the Bentley to a cozy-looking cafe with a large chalkboard sign on an easel out front. Aziraphale paused to read it as they got out of the car.

It read as follows.

_Tonight: Amateur Hour Variety Show:_  
_ Bring your Talent and Share it with Us!_  
_ We can't wait to see your lovely performances!_  
_ Xoxoxo,_  
_ \- The Community Cafe_

Well now, it wasn't as if he could refuse.

The sign had asked him nicely after all.

Aziraphale adored being on stage. Crowley suffered stoically.... more or less through most of it.  
But then the bastard angel made a dreadful announcement.

“For my next trick, I shall pull a snake out of my sleeve.”

“No, no, no,” Crowley groaned and rolled his eyes, arms crossed with mortification. “What've I done?”

He was sitting at a small table in the front row, so his grumbling was only loud enough for Aziraphale to hear.

“Now, who shall be my lovely assistant? ” The angel peered out into the audience, a hand shielding his brow from non-existent sunlight as he pretended to scan the crowd. “Any volunteers?”

“'m ready to repent now. Anyone listening?” Crowley was chagrined, deeply regretting his life choices, especially his most recent act of kindness that led to this moment.

Aziraphale's eyes lit up as they settled on Crowley.

“Ah, you there, the dashing gent in the dark glasses, thank you ever so much for volunteering. Be a dear and step up here, right this way please. Pip pip, there you go.”

Crowley let out another audible grown but he did as Aziraphale asked and moved towards the stage, grumbling as he walked.

“Completely spoiled angel....had better see I'm doing this for love,” he muttered to himself.

“Did you say something, my good fellow, who I have never met before?” Aziraphale asked as he held out his hand to pull Crowley up onto the stage. Crowley took it and climbed up.

“I said 'you're meant to use a dove'. No one pulls snakes out of their sleeves. Or hats, or bloody anywhere on their person,” he hissed, still holding the angel's hand.

“Not if it's a trousers snake!” Someone from the audience heckled. A few people snickered.  
Crowley rolled his eyes. He let go of Aziraphale's hand and pushed his sunglasses up higher on his face, trying to distract from the blush spreading over his cheeks.

“Oh no, no. I assure you this snake is the Garden variety,” Aziraphale announced to the crowd smiling. Oh what fun they were having!

Aziraphale snapped his fingers and produced a top hat and a stick rolled up in fabric. He unwound it. The stick was attached to the fabric at the top...a long black piece of heavy cotton. He held it out beside him, creating a sort of curtain under his arm.

“Very good. Now, lovely assistant,” Aziraphale said brightly turning to Crowley again, “kindly stand behind this curtain and put this hat on. I'll give you some privacy while you change” he winked.

Crowley hardly need privacy to put a hat on but he took the hint. He ducked down under Aziraphale's outstretched arm, to stand behind the narrow curtain. He put the hat down on the floor and transformed.

“While my assistant is getting changed....” Aziraphale held out his arm behind the curtain and gestured for snake Crowley to come to his hand, “I'd like you to meet....” Crowley slithered up into his sleeve, “....my dear friend, Crowley.”

Aziraphale pulled his arm back into view of the audience, dropping the curtain. The audience gasped to see no one where human Crowley had been standing.

Aziraphale touched his sleeve, gently encouraged Crowley to pop his head out. Crowley flicked out his tongue cutely and slithered out a little more. Aziraphale patted his head. The angel nuzzled his nose to the serpent's snout.

The crowed awwwwed.

“We love each other very much.” Aziraphale told the crowd. “I've known Crowley forever, almost since the beginning of time, it feels like. Actually it was his idea to perform here tonight, the precious dear. Because he knew how very happy it would make me.”

The audience applauded.

Aziraphale and snake Crowley stared into each others' eyes warmly.

It was a beautiful night.

Afterwards when they were back home, Crowley took Aziraphale in his arms, feeling overwhelmed by joy.

“You were magnificent," Crowley said softly, a little choked up. "I loved seeing you light up on stage,"

“Thank you, darling. You made a lovely assistant.” Aziraphale smiled.

Crowley blushed.

“That heckler had some nerve, though, blunt bastard. 'Trouser snake', really? ”

“Let's not have any ill will towards trouser snakes, my dear. Love all creatures, great and small. Though I must say...." the angel added with a cheeky wink, "that I do so prefer a snake without trousers.''

“Ohh?” Crowley vocalized his intrigue, eyebrows raised with interest, “shall I tell him to lose the trousers then?”

“Yes, do be a love and tell him for me.”

The next night, the couple returned to the cozy bedroom above the bookshop, with its tartan throw pillows and lush green plants who had seen far too much, to share another compelling tale from the land of fan fiction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Featured author : for_autumn_i_am  
Featured fic: The One in Which Crowley Discovers Wanking  
Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19237858
> 
> <https://archiveofourown.org/works/19237858>  



	3. Aziraphale Brings the Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale's turn to share a fic. And you KNOW he likes 'em dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> featured author: dreamsofspike  
featured fic: repossession  
Link:  
<https://archiveofourown.org/works/19710115/chapters/46645777>  
\---  
Please note warnings on featured fic before reading.

The following night when the couple sat down together on the bed, sprawling comfortably over the various throw pillows and cushions, to settle into their new reading time ritual, Crowley recognized a certain disquietude in his angel.

Aziraphale had a look on his face like he was wrestling with an idea. Not "wrestling" like the stone winged figures of Crowley's statue- forever frozen in their desperately grasping, yearning embrace- kind of wrestling, mind you. Just the ordinary kind... in that he had something he wanted to say but was hesitant and biting back on his lip a bit.

He fussed and fidgeted restlessly, as if he couldn't quite get comfortable on the plush tartan cushions.

Crowley knew Aziraphale so well that he needed only a quick glance at his lover's body language to know that he was anxious to ask the demon for a favour. Maybe it was a costume request for tonight's reading? They were both still wearing their regular clothes. Crowley wondered what his beloved would ask for. He rather hoped it might involve giving the bedroom plants a bit of an eyeful.

"Go on then. Spit it out, angel."

"Oh...." Aziraphale said slowly, pursing his lips in that adorable way of his. "Well... I was only thinking....." he trailed off.

"Go ahead, " Crowley coaxed. He sighed. "You bloody well know I'll say yes to anything you ask."

"Well," Aziraphale brightened, immediately opening the word faucet and letting them flow out now that he was fairly certain he was going to get his way (and there really never had been any doubt).

"I was thinking that we really ought to take turns. I should very much like to read one to YOU tonight. And we could add in some other flavours, a few.... different sort of tales to the mix." His voice pitched a bit at the word 'different'. He held Crowley's gaze with his best pleading puppy dog eyes, though they were hardly necessary at this point, "like maybe something a bit darker and more tragic?"

Crowley groaned, "Don't tell me they've gone and written us into Hamlet? The ripe tossers! Credit where credit is due, they're more twisted than I thought. Does that really do it for them? Me spouting lines in bleeding iambic pentameter?" Crowley picked up a small purple-flowered potted plant with one hand and gazed at it dramatically. "Alas, poor Velocipede, I knew him well."

"Him, Horatio, darling. " Aziraphale corrected automatically, somewhat distracted, eyes sparkling at the mental image of Crowley as Hamlet.

"Thought I was your darling," said a very confused Crowley, not without a bit of a pout and some jealousy directed towards this Horatio fellow.

Aziraphale didn't seem to notice, still lost in his fantasy of Snekspeare's 'Hamlet Crowley' and exclaimed, "Oh my, yes, that would be so wonderful! But no, my dear, it isn't an homage to William, it's an original tale about us. It takes place at the turn of this century, practically yesterday wasn't it? And it's about... the depth of love... of your love, my dearest. About what you would endure in the name of love, how pure of heart you are. And how strong."

Crowley blushed. "Oh... a load of codswallop... 'm not all that."

Aziraphale smiled warmly at him and looked back down.

The angel's eyes skimmed the tablet screen as he commented offhandedly, "The tags say 'BAMF Aziraphale'. How curious..."

Crowley's pupils went as wide as saucers and he sat up intently with a huge grin instantly spreading across his face.

Aziraphale didn't notice, his eyes still down on the screen and his brows furrowed in thought. Maybe he should look up the meaning of the unusual word. He looked over to the nightstand where Crowley's pitiful book puppet innocently rested; rather too innocently after all it had done all that badgering and chaffing at Aziraphale's expense last night.

The book puppet stared up at him from under its tiny top-hat with its googly eyes unblinking. Aziraphale wished it actually had been a dictionary. It wasn't often that he came across words he didn't know the meaning of. Alas it was only a thesaurus (**** IDENTITY REVEALED, dear audience! ****) and he knew better than to open its alluring pages and be pulled into its clutches, forever flipping back and forth in the nine circles of word-hunting torment. As he had firmly told the book last night, it just wasn't his type.

Crowley was still raring to go and not at all interested in the exchange between Aziraphale and the thesaurus, platonic or otherwise.

"Hmm," Aziraphale said, intrigued. "BAMF... what could that possibly mean, I wonder?"

"Means you've peaked my interest, love. 'm all ears!" Crowley settled back on the pillows, with the little purple flowered plant tucked under his arm.

"To be truthful, I don't know if I should read it to you. It's written so well that it feels quite real. I don't wish to upset you," Aziraphale looked conflicted again.

"'S that a challenge? I can handle a story, angel. They're only words." Crowley cocked a half grin.

"Well... they're very powerful words. But beautiful as well. They've touched me deeply. And I....I want to share this with you. "  
Crowley reached out a gentle hand and caressed his cheek. "Aziraphale...whatever you want, 's yours. "

"I do hope you like it... I know you usually prefer the funny ones. But please, darling, give this one a chance. It's ever so beautiful! Oh I hope you won't cry too much."

"Pfft," Crowley scoffed and rolled his eyes. "M'not going to cry, angel."

Aziraphale leaned over towards the nightstand and reached for the tablet which had remained there untouched since last night without so much as an obsessive thought from the bibliophile angel. (The thesaurus looked on with pining in its googly eyes).

Aziraphale lifted the tablet reverently and brought it down to his lap. He snapped his fingers and it changed into a heavy leather-bound tomb with yellowed pages, something that matched the weight of what he was about to read, and his own outfit changed into a simple brown mourning sackcloth.

"Shall I tell you a tale?”  
Crowley nodded.

In keeping with Shakespearean tradition, Aziraphale prefaced the work with a poem.

“Then hark, my dearest, listen well. I would speak of things that destroy me to tell.  
If our hearts should break before the ending, we read on yearning for their mending.  
Here is hope and despair, darkness and light.  
In this tale I would share, with you, love, tonight  
That paints so dark an obsession, we may never see its like.  
This is titled Repossession, penned by dreamsofspike"

He took a deep breath, steadying himself for the impending emotional onslaught, and began to read...

  
_"Parked on the side of a crowded SoHo street on a dark night in 1967, the demon Crowley made the agonizing decision to disappear - utterly and permanently - from the life of the angel Aziraphale... "_  
\----  
<https://archiveofourown.org/works/19710115/chapters/46645777>  
\---  
(MINOR SPOILERS AHEAD- CHAPTERS 1-4 counting the prologue as a chapter)

Aziraphale read the first four chapters aloud and then put down the heavy book.

  
Crowley was viciously hugging his little purple flowered potted plant to his chest like it was a child's teddy bear and huge tears rolled down his cheeks.  
His self-certain resolve that he wouldn't cry had long since disappeared.

  
Aziraphale leaned over and rested a gentle hand on Crowley's arm, and smiled up at him reassuringly.  
"'s not over, it can't be!" Crowley wailed.

  
“Oh no, my dear. There's ever so much more! But I thought it best to stop here tonight. It can be quite a lot to take in, I'm afraid.” With a worried expression, he looked into Crowley's eyes and reached out to wipe the tears from his cheeks.

  
“ 'm not crying, m' eyes just do this now and then. 's a thing. Special snake eyelids thing."

Aziraphale had read enough books about serpent anatomy to know that snakes had neither eyelids nor tears and their eye lubrication was maintained by a clear thin membrane over their cornea.

He had read an awful lot in the years before he and Crowley admitted their feelings for each other. Escaping into a book was how he always dealt with his feelings.

He would sit alone, missing his dear friend terribly, wanting to reach out and tell him but being afraid to. Instead he just read about snakes, Crowley's reptilian familiars on Earth. It was a way to feel just a little bit closer to him even if he wasn't there.

But now he was here. And he and Aziraphale were sharing this moving story - this beautiful experience- together.

Crowley composed himself. “Writing in this 's really something else. Bloody good...” He paused and corrected himself, “Bloody brilliant.”

Aziraphale brightened to see that Crowley was okay.

“Oh, I do agree. Marvelous word crafting. The work of a true magician, I dare say. ”

Aziraphale rarely called anyone a magician; it was a term he reserved only for those he admired immensely.

Crowley chimed in. “The line about my Fall....”

“Crowley's Fall, darling. Best not to self-identify with the characters for this one. Trust me.” He winced a little thinking about what was in store.

Crowley peered over at the heavy tome on Aziraphale's lap and re-read the line he liked._ “That unspeakable agony was utterly obliterated by the breathtaking devastation of realizing all that he’d lost._”

He took a deep breath. “'s true, you know. 'bout love being taken away. Hurts more than anything else can.”

Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley. He couldn't answer to his experience but he could give him this. His love. His heart. Everything he could offer to help Crowley heal and grow.

Although Aziraphale had wrestled with the decision to share this story with Crowley, he knew it would ultimately help him. The demon still struggled daily to see himself in a positive light. He did so much good in the world, was so kind, so giving, so loving but never saw himself as a good person.

He couldn't accept compliments. He'd brush off Aziraphale's praises with a blushing “oh, shaddup.” He devoted his days to acts of charity, working in the community gardens to feed the poor, but he insisted that his work had malicious intent, that it was only a way to spread forbidden knowledge.

He claimed that he kept plants only to terrorize them when he actually treated them with utmost reverence. He made them see themselves as beautiful so that they radiated that feeling outwards and allowed everyone around them to see it too. And that was what Aziraphale wanted to do for him.

“Tell me what else you liked about the story so far, my dear,” Aziraphale encouraged.

“Well...” Crowley considered, “they way they got together just had me chuffed to bits.”

“Yes, it was rather lovely. They bonded over their human empathy. Crowley values human life so very dearly. He can't stand the suffering of others. And I liked how Aziraphale isn't merciful to the perpetrator. He has a strong sense of justice and believes in punishing those who act with cruelty.”

“Yeah,” Crowley agreed, wiping away another tear. “That'd be the BAMF Aziraphale tag. Expect we'll be getting more of that later on,” he predicted.

“Will you tell me what that word means, my dear boy?” Aziraphale asked inquisitively.  
Crowley leaned in closer to Aziraphale and cupped his ear to whisper in it softly.

Aziraphale bristled with pleasure from the contact, but Crowley grinned and pulled away, eager to see the reaction on his angel's face to the newfound forbidden knowledge.

Aziraphale's eyebrows shot up. “Oh!!!!! Well, I do look forward to that! The uh... 'bad-ass'... part, that is. I should like to see Aziraphale lick some butt!”

Crowley laughed and didn't bother correcting him. “Wouldn't we all, angel?”

The plants around the room clearly disagreed, trembling a little at that vivid mental image.

The little purple-flowered one in Crowley's arms however, was pretty cool with the idea, very much on board with this ship, and nodded enthusiastically. Crowley pressed a little kiss to its leaves.

Aziraphale was skim-reading the tome again.

“Oh this is intriguing,” he remarked, returning his gaze to Crowley. “There's been a new chapter nearly every day since the story started. How curious!”

“'Can't be. Writing's too good. No way a mortal could keep that up.” Crowley was in disbelief.

“Do you think the author might be.... one of us? You know, something...supernatural?” Aziraphale wondered.

“s'possible. Blimey insane update schedule, I'll tell you.”

“Then again,” Aziraphale counter-argued against his own theory, “there's such a well of emotion, so heart-breakingly, achingly human that the author couldn't be anything else. You know what most of our kinds are like; they don't feel human emotions the way that we have come to by living on and loving the Earth and its dear creatures.”

“Right. Bugger that theory.” He was eager to get back to discussing the story. “That psychic bond bit is brilliant.”

“So beautiful.” Aziraphale agreed. “We should try that later, my dear. I'd like to be able to share with you like that.”

“Sure, angel. Wanna guess what I'm thinking of and I'll tell you if you're right?”

“Splendid idea. Now whatever you do, don't think about purple elephants, and I'll give it a guess.”  
Crowley chuckled. “Well now that's all I can bloody well think of. Maybe you're psychic, love.”

“Only with you, my darling. I probably could guess what you're thinking about though. At least from the story...” He read aloud, “_You’ll fall,” Crowley whispered, eyes closed, forehead tilted down against Aziraphale’s, his words choked with fear and shame. “Being with me… like that… you’ll fall , angel…_”

Aziraphale glanced up at Crowley for confirmation.

“Yeah.” Crowley grimaced. “That bloke in the story has a point. Knows he isn't a good influence on anyone.”

Aziraphale knew the things that pained Crowley, the fears that tugged at his heart. The angel knew it was hard for his lover to vocalize all those painful feelings. Maybe exploring this story would help him.

“He's wrong though. He's a lovely fellow, that chap. As the story says, he has _“a tender, passionate heart._” Aziraphale's eyes gave away who he was really talking about, from the way that they shone with love as he gazed at Crowley.

Crowley blushed, though he loved having his angel look at him like that.

“Well, he's got a good mouth on him. Full of piss and vinegar,” Crowley grinned proudly.

“A sharp tongue with just the right amount of caustic wit. Such a daring rapscallion.” Aziraphale chimed in adoringly.

“Gets him into a spot of trouble though, doesn't it? Being such a magnificent son of a gun.” Crowley's empathy was torn between feeling pride or fear on the character's behalf. “Gabriel's not amused. No sense of humour, that one.”  
Aziraphale winced. “That's quite the understatement in this story, I'm afraid, my dear.” He shifted uncomfortably, still carrying some reservations about sharing this particular work with Crowley.

He tried to change the subject. “I very much enjoy how intelligently the characters are written. For example, Aziraphale prevents himself from reacting emotionally to any situation. No matter what he is feeling, he tries to make intelligent decisions with the knowledge he has and act with cautious restraint. In this scene for instance, “he didn’t have time to focus on his own guilt; he had to take Crowley’s sacrifice and use it as a means of getting him out of here.”

Crowley agreed, “yeah, he's written to be smart without miraculously knowing more than he's supposed to.

“The author always reveals just a little bit more to us, the readers, than what has been revealed to Aziraphale. So we remain perched on the edge of our seats, hoping he shall discover what we already know, meanwhile we don't yet know everything ourselves,” Aziraphale commented.

“Yeah, like this line,” Crowley added, “ _'Got it?” / “I believe I do.”/ Aziraphale did not get it. Aziraphale was deeply confused and disturbed by the behavior he had just witnessed - from both Gabriel and Crowley._” Right there, see. We don't know exactly what that's all about yet either but we've seen just a touch more than Azirpahale has.”

“But this line, right here, my dear, is I feel the very heart of the story, _'It was deeply unfair in a way that cut at Aziraphale’s heart, for Crowley to willingly take all the blame onto his own shoulders in order to, hopefully, leave Aziraphale in the clear._”

Aziraphale turned his head to lock eyes with Crowley and then continued. “That's you to a T my darling. You always put others first. You are so selfless, so willing to sacrifice. But you still don't realize how beautiful you are. It's maddeningly frustrating, my dear, really.”

Aziraphale stroked Crowley's cheek and spoke with a gentle but resolved tone, conviction in his voice. “You are enough. You're a good person. More than just a little bit. So very good. You still don't think you're enough. You are. More than enough. ”

Crowley blushed and was at a loss for words. He looked down trying to think of something to say. Then he materialized a little distraction to divert Aziraphale's overwhelming, loving attention off himself and back to the book.

“Did you read the comments, angel?”

"Comments?"

Crowley pointed and Aziraphale looked back down at the book. He read through them for several minutes.

“Why, oh! Isn't this marvelous! There's artwork too, drawn by the readers! This fan fiction world is an entire art community of its own. Art that inspires art that in turn, inspires more art!” he exclaimed.

“Like Ouroboros. Snake that eats its own tail. Just on and on and on and on...” Crowley offered.

“Why just look at the comments section, darling. This place... it feels loved. Do you feel it? Just an outpouring of pure love,” Aziraphale said delightedly, putting his hand over his heart. “Oh the things they write are just so splendid.”

“Would you read me some, angel?” Crowley asked softly, his head resting on Aziraphale's shoulder. He cradled the plant in his arms and sighed into his angel's shoulder.

“Yes, of course, my darling. Well, this lovely human, Potatodim, says they love to be able to interact with the author and the other readers. They say, '_it feels like a debate group, it's lovely. It's like we share something that we all care about.' ”_

He reached up a hand to pet Crowley's head, which was still resting on his shoulder. His stroking was slow and soft. “Well, my my, isn't that a wonderful sentiment, darling? ”

“Mmm,” said Crowley, trying to get even closer, nuzzling his face into Aziraphale's neck.

"dash11 says "_I can't get enough of this story and the little fandom that's risen up around it_". And just listen to this one by snarky_fangirl. '_Reading everyone's comments is one of my favorite parts of this whole experience!! I love this little sub-culture community we've built up here.'”_

“I invented sub-culture, you know. That was one of mine. ” Crowley bragged.

“Really? Why? That doesn't seem like quite the sort of thing they'd have any interest in downstairs.”

“They aren't, not that lot. Did it for m' own reasons. Did it so... you know...humans would have places to go, to belong....things to congregate around when life failed them. Little side paths they could still walk on, have somewhere to put their feet, when they were knocked off the road.”

“You do care for them so, don't you, my darling. You love humans deeply, though you would never admit it,” Aziraphale observed. “It seems they feel the same way about you,” Aziraphale said, pointing to another comment in the tome on his lap. “They're calling themselves the “_Crowley Protection Squad_”... a reader named Master_Of_Ceremonies coined that phrase. And Charlie here says you're an official member.”

“Do I look like I need protection?” Crowley sat bolt upright, pulling away from Aziraphale and flicked out his snake tongue. He let out a tiny hiss, trying to look menacing through his tear streaked cheeks, still clutching the little plant like a teddy bear.

Aziraphale looked at him and considered. “Well, you look like you could use a hug, my dear, at the very least.” Aziraphale finally closed the book and set it back on the nightstand with a snap that transformed it back into a digital tablet.

The angel held out his arms.

Crowley relented without any protest and climbed back into his angel's embrace.

Aziraphale held him gently in silence for a few moments. Eventually he spoke in hushed tones.

“Even if we think we have all the time in the world, we never know if our time together will be cut short one day and when that day will be. We need to treat each moment like it's precious,” he pontificated aloud.

Crowley enjoyed listening to him and murmured his agreement softly.

Aziraphale went on. “Crowley, I want to show you how much I appreciate you. You've been so kind to me, encouraging me to go out more and do new exciting things and sharing this fan fiction reading experience with me. I don't feel like I'm escaping into it any more, I feel like I'm living again. I can enjoy it in measured amounts and then put it away to enjoy the next day. Thanks to you. We did something fun and new for me last night at the magic show, so let's do the same for you tonight. Let's go somewhere you want to go."

Crowley was touched. He considered for a long moment.

"Actually, angel, for the life of me I can't think of anywhere I want to go. I just want to be alone with you. Reading this reminded me how precious you are, how lucky I am to have you and to feel safe with you. All I want to do tonight is hold you in my arms and be with you and you alone."

Aziraphale smiled.

"Then I know just the place."

He stood up on the bed and took Crowley's hand. With the other, he opened the latch to the skylight window in the ceiling over the bed, climbing up to the roof and gently pulling his demon up with him.

Once outside, Aziraphale spread his wings and flapped upwards, gaining a few feet of air. He turned to Crowley offering his hand again.

"I'll give you a lift. Anywhere you want to go."

Crowley smiled at the familiar words and took Aziraphale's hand. He spread his wings.

Together they flew into the night sky, hand in hand, separate but connected like a binary star.

They went up into the clouds where they could have complete privacy, and whatever words or loving touches passed between them we will never know, because those moments were for them alone.

When they returned to their bedroom much later that night, they lay down beside each other still holding hands. They shared soft kisses in a gentle embrace.

Then they made love even more sweetly and tenderly than they ever had.

Crowley's onlooking plants were overwhelmed by the aching beauty of the scene. Though Crowley would have misinterpreted their trembling as fear to suit his self-deprecating narrative, the truth was that what the plants were doing was more like shaking with tears.

They were awed to be in the presence of two beings who were sharing such a deep love, two beings who had broken free from callous ordinances to actually care about humanity and become deeply human themselves.

The bedroom plants were so moved by the pure feelings between these lovers that they themselves spontaneously flowered and their boughs bore fruit - glistening, succulent pears ripened to ambrosial perfection- despite the very plain fact which the plants had surely forgotten: that none of them were nor had ever been fruit trees.

Not that Aziraphale minded. He liked pears. He plucked a single one down and shared it with Crowley. Much to Crowley's surprise, for once the demon enjoyed eating as much as he enjoyed watching Aziraphale eat. It was so much the more sweet an experience when they enjoyed it together.

The pears tasted marvelous, not of forbidden knowledge, but of something much sweeter; they tasted of loving acceptance. Of the love that exists between two people once nothing is withheld, no secrets, no fears. A love that had only trust and honesty.

They ate of the fruit and looked upon each other, gazed into each other's eyes and saw that they were naked, hearts completely bared to each other, tender and loyal, forever and always.

It was truly a delicious pear, shared between those two lovers.

They left the rest of the fruits on the boughs, to be savoured another night after another story.


End file.
